


5 Times an Avenger Got Spanked (and one time they asked for it)

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Series: The Marvel Cinematic Spankingverse (oh god please don't sue me) [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Kink Meme, Other, Prompt Fic, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The last thing on Steve's mind was starting some sort of spanking frenzy among his team, but he can't focus on that right now."</p><p>Basically what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Asgardian Customs

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for a [prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6021.html?thread=9187461) at the Avengers Kink Meme:
> 
> "Five times an Avenger got spanked, and one time they/he/she asked for it. 
> 
> Can be discipline, kink, aliens/enemy of the week made them do it, stress relief, you name it. The more Avengers you can get involved (on either end), the better."
> 
> Apparently I can't resist the opportunity to get the whole gang in on it. Oh, and Tony is a little bit creepy. 
> 
> Thanks go to [hucknclem](http://hucknclem.livejournal.com) for encouragement and beta services.

"It matters not," Thor answers firmly. "Had I been as foolish as Agent Barton was tonight, my father would have striped me with the branch of a downy birch."

"We don't really do that here," Bruce says mildly.

Thor shrugs one shoulder. "Asgard does not always share your views on barbarism."

Bruce seems unsure how to respond to that, not wanting to insult the demigod, but Steve thinks to himself that Thor has a point. Sure, America has changed in the last 70 years, but it wasn't too long ago that he remembers his own father telling him to bend over for a dose of the belt. He had to have been sixteen or seventeen - hardly younger to his mind than Clint and Thor are now.

"I'll keep that in mind, Thor," he says finally. No one is likely to take him seriously, but maybe a little discipline is exactly what this team needs.

...

Clint's mouth sets firmly as Steve Rogers opens his mouth to start tearing into them again. Nothing is ever good enough for Captain America, brilliant tactician and inspiration to them all, he thinks sourly.

"All we did was go ahead to sweep the place and establish a perimeter," he says bluntly, cutting Rogers off midstream. "I'm used to bringing up the front or the rear. Thor's not half bad either, you know. It's no big deal."

Beside him, Natasha shifts uncomfortably. He knows she wishes sometimes he'd keep his mouth shut; she's much better at this chain-of-command thing than he is. He prefers to keep his autonomy.

"Excuse me?" Rogers asks, frowning at the interruption.

"You heard me," Clint answers back. "No big deal." Natasha is shaking her head and he can sense the disapproval radiating from the other team members. Whatever.

"What you did was an extremely big deal," Rogers tells him, frowning like he's trying to figure out why Clint isn't accepting his reprimand like a good little soldier. "The two of you nearly got yourselves killed. We're all very disappointed."

"For my actions and those of Agent Barton I humbly apologize," Thor says swiftly, shooting Clint a meaningful look.

"Thank you, Thor," Rogers says. "But your actions were childish and reckless. Believe me, I find myself tempted to take the Asgardian route in this instance."

Clint isn't sure what Rogers means by that, but apparently he and Thor have had this conversation before, because the Asgardian rises without a word and begins walking to Rogers, head bowed.

"I understand the distress I have caused and am willing to make the proper amends," he says to Rogers, but loud enough for the other Avengers to clearly make out his words. "Shall I bring you a branch?"

Natasha and Stark seem as confused by this as Clint is, but Banner grimaces like he knows what comes next.

"That won't be necessary," Rogers says. He glances around the room. "Bruce, if I could have the use of your chair, I would appreciate it."

Banner gets up, that uncertain grimace still decorating his face. "Steve, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks placatingly.

"Pretty sure," Rogers says tightly, and Banner moves out of the way.

Rogers moves to the vacated chair - a simple wooden design with no arms, in sharp contrast to most of the furniture in the room - and Thor follows. Clint still isn't sure what's going on until Rogers takes a seat and looks up at his reconnaissance partner with a quiet expectancy.

"Is he going to - " he whispers to Natasha, who's staring at the unfolding scene with eyes as wide as saucers.

"I'd like you over my knee, Thor," Rogers says, and Thor simply bends over the man's lap. Rogers takes a moment to guide him further up, and it looks a little ridiculous - the Asgardian has several inches and some solid muscle on their team leader.

"I wonder how this is going to work with Thor's pain tolerance," Clint murmurs to Natasha, but he's surprised to see she looks absolutely stricken.

"I can't watch this," she tells him, and she runs from the room.

Thor is still wearing his leather pants, and Rogers rests his hand on the upturned seat before saying, "I hate to do this, Thor, but these pants are going to have to go."

Clint gets the idea then that maybe he should follow Natasha's lead and get out of there himself, especially since the odds are good that his ass is next in line. He turns on his heel, preparing to make a quiet but speedy exit, but he's halted by an arresting hand on his arm.

"Oh, I don't think so, Legolas," Stark tells him. He gets the idea that the man is darkly amused by the whole proceedings. "Why don't you just take a look at what your bad decisions got your friend here, and think about who's going to be there next, huh?" He spins Clint back around, then pats his ass in a way that Clint can only describe as creepy.

"You would have done the same thing," he hisses, wondering whether he can shake Iron Man's grip.

"I'm not the one with a one-way ticket to Lapland, pal," Stark says with confidence. Clint isn't sure he's ever hated Stark more than in this moment. Although that's nothing to what he's feeling for Rogers now.

Thor folds his pants ceremoniously before draping himself back over Roger's knees, this time in the correct position. And Clint stares with unseeing eyes as the spanking begins.

He dimly registers the sound of Rogers' palm slapping methodically, but mostly he's seething with rage. Thor's skin begins to color darker, and he gives off a grunt that might be pain. Apparently the perfect human specimen has a good spanking arm; who knew?

"As long as you are a part of this team, you will respect orders and respect your own safety," Rogers says, and Thor bobs his head where it hangs just above the floor.

"Please accept my sincerest remorse," Thor answers, and Clint realizes with a growing horror that the demigod's voice is hoarse with tears. "I will not make such a grievous miscalculation in the future, I assure you."

"I believe you," Rogers says, removing his left hand from where it had been resting on Thor's back. "Consider this your official warning."

"I will," Thor agrees, drawing himself to his feet and bowing his head once more.

"And feel free to put your pants back on," Rogers adds with the ghost of a smile. Thor seems only too happy to reach for them.

"Now it's your turn," Stark says to Clint, and there's definitely a note of enjoyment in his voice.

"No way in hell," Clint says fiercely, twisting, but Stark is ready for the escape attempt.

"Are you not ready to accept your punishment?" Thor asks, and Clint freezes. Every eye in the room is turned on him, although Banner pretends to be studying the wall.

"I - no," Clint spits defensively. "It's just Captain Asshole on a power trip and we're not children." He's breathing heavily, and try as he might, he can't visualize a way out of this situation.

"I have made my amends, and I bore the punishment bravely," Thor tells him seriously. His voice is still uneven, which only makes Clint more uncomfortable. "Do you think me proud or happy to be chastised? Indeed, at the time I regretted putting forth the Asgardian customs to Steve Rogers. Yet now I am secure in the knowledge that I have atoned for my actions. You would be wise to do the same."

"I don't think so," Clint says, face growing hot as he realizes what a coward he looks like. He wants Natasha here to back him up, but in a way it's just as well she's gone, because he would hate for her to see this.

"Oh, come on, kid, you afraid of a little spanking?" Stark asks loudly. Rogers says nothing, just watches him. Waiting.

"This isn't protocol," Clint insists desperately. "I don't have to answer to you."

"You know, Clint," Banner says gently, "it might just be better to get it over with. Clear the air."

"Bullshit," Clint mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear, but he stalks over to Rogers' chair, yanks his jeans to his knees and bends over. He's stiff as a board, and he's terrified when Rogers' hand connects with his body - is he going to pull down Clint's shorts? But the Captain only moves him forward, just as he did Thor, until Clint's ass is on full display, the center of attention, the perfect fucking target.

"Thank you for accepting your punishment," Rogers tells him, and Clint hears the palm of his hand crack down before he feels it.

The impact is more pressure than sting at first, but as Rogers spanks him again and again Clint begins to feel the pain adding up. It's steady and relentless, and he's only human. His legs jerk involuntarily when Rogers seems to be focusing several swats in one place, but he doesn't make a sound. He won't give any of them the satisfaction.

"I would have expected better of you than to go against direct orders and endanger a teammate," Rogers says finally, stopping in the spanking. "I want your word that you won't behave so recklessly again."

"Sure," Clint retorts, not meaning it, feeling like it's not a lie unless he says the full thing straight to Rogers' face, and feeling like he would say anything to get himself out of there right now.

"Thank you, Clint," Rogers says, taking his hand away from the small of Clint's back, and Clint is up like a shot, pulling his jeans back up and fastening the button hurriedly.

"You took your punishment bravely," Thor attests, but Clint's in no mood to hear it. He leaves the room without a word or a backward glance.


	2. Tilting at Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to blow off some steam.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep on like this," Natasha says passionately.

"I don't care," Clint snaps, driving his hand into the wall again. His knuckles are bruised and one of them is bloodied, but the cement is staying firm, and the pain in his fist feels real. Honest.

"Speaking as the man who owns the place, I might be more worried about the wall," someone drawls, and Clint turns to see Tony Stark standing there.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks.

"I'm walking. Why are you punching out a wall?" Stark counters.

"I don't know," Clint shoots back. "Why do you seem to think it's funny for me to get my ass beat?"

"Well, because I think it's funny for anyone to get their ass beat," Stark answers frankly. He pauses. "Except me."

Clint is seething, and he expects Natasha to have a witty retort - she never has patience for Stark - but she's strangely silent, staring ahead as if she's not hearing them.

"And speaking of ass beatings, this seems like a good occasion for one," Stark continues. "The only question is - should I get Rogers and tell him what's going on? Or should I just deal with this one myself?"

"You wouldn't dare, you bastard," Clint says, his heart stopping momentarily.

"Ah, you see, I don't like to hear anyone insult my mother," Stark says, and suddenly any trace of playfulness is gone from his demeanor. "So this may definitely be one to handle myself."

"Natasha," Clint says quietly, hoping for backup on this one.

"And if you ask me, your girlfriend is on my side," Stark says. And while Clint expects Natasha to bristle at being identified only as his girlfriend, she's still pretending not to hear them, her cheeks flushed.

"I mean, deliberately injuring yourself just because somebody hurt your feelings?" Stark asks. "That's a no-no in our book, the last time I checked. Wouldn't you agree, Natasha?"

Natasha turns and walks off abruptly.

"How sweet," Stark says, watching her go. "She doesn't want to see you get your ass handed to you. So alright, who will it be - me, or Captain Goody Two-Shoes?"

Clint doesn't know how to answer that question - the idea of being spanked by Tony Stark is repugnant and humiliating, but he's pretty damn sure he would rather be shot in the head than walk back into that room right now and ask Rogers for another spanking for hurting himself.

"You're a pervert," he accuses, and Stark shrugs.

"Probably. So what's your answer?"

"You," Clint says darkly. "If you swear you'll never tell Rogers anything."

"Not a problem," Stark agrees quickly. "I know the perfect room; it's soundproofed."

Clint isn't even going to ask, but he follows Stark up a flight of stairs. The room is decked out as a bedroom done in bright red, and Clint has a horrible feeling he’d find a lot of hi-tech Stark toys in the closet.

"All right," Stark says, seating himself on the bed. "I'm not much of one for speeches, unless they're in my honor, so we'll just say that punching walls is bad and trust that you won't do it again."

Clint rolls his eyes and prepares to bend over Stark's leg, his torso supported on the mattress, but Stark stops him with a hand.

"Ah ah ah. Forgetting your jeans?" he asks.

"Don't push it," Clint growls, lowering himself anyway, and Stark apparently decides it's not a battle with pursuing, because he just begins spanking.

Even through Clint's jeans, the swats burn like hell on an already-sore ass, and he clenches his cheeks automatically, even as he knows it'll make the muscles sorer later. He's still not sure how he found himself in this position, a grown man, a SHIELD agent, possibly the best archer alive. All he can do it wait for it to be over.

"There," Stark says with some satisfaction, just when Clint is starting to think he's going to burst out of his skin from the pain and the frustration of not showing it. "Now, will you ever do this again?"

"I don't think so," Clint answers through gritted teeth, and Stark barks a laugh.

"Ha! I bet you hope not, anyway," he says. "Just remember, kid, never go picking fights with brick walls. Or big green things the size of brick walls. You'll lose."

The wall wasn't brick, but Clint's not going to point it out.

"Thanks for not telling Rogers," he says curtly, and sees himself out.


	3. Red and Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a visitor at work.

Bruce isn't entirely surprised when Natasha finds her way into his lab the next day, looking almost like a civilian in a red summer dress and light lipstick.

"Hello again," he says, straightening and walking over to greet her. "What brings you here this morning?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you," she says. "Just - it's kind of sensitive." Her whole face is bright red, and she can't meet his eyes.

"I'm not a psychologist," he warns, and her eyes snap up to meet his.

"You know - "

"This is about what happened at Tony's last night?" Bruce hazards, and she nods, looking almost like she's going to cry.

"How did you know?" she asks him.

"It was pretty clear something was going on," he says. "You were visibly upset, and I can't imagine you would leave Clint in harm's way for anything. You weren't afraid."

She takes a deep breath. "It's just - all my life. As long as I could remember, anyway. I used to fantasize about it at night. Every night."

"But not for a while?" he probes gently.

She shakes her head. "I guess I've had more important things on my mind. But that - last night -it brought it all back. I can't get it out of my head now."

Bruce picks up the rough roll of paper towels sitting on the counter and walks it over to her. She tears off a piece in her hands, balling it up before pressing it into her eyes almost angrily.

"You know, in a way it's good to see you like this," he says.

Natasha snorts. "A crying, fucked-up mess?"

"Vulnerable," he tells her. "Most of the time you go around like your very own Other Guy - you're a one-girl powerhouse."

That draws another wet laugh from her, and he pats her shoulder. "It's okay. In a way it's helped to make you the woman you are today. But it's also… hard… to keep all of that bottled up inside you."

"You're telling me," she says thickly, tearing off some more paper towels.

"So talk to me about it," Bruce suggests. "This is a safe place. Work through it."

Natasha smiles in a self-deprecating sort of way. "Okay," she says, straightening, taking a deep breath, and apparently reining her emotions back in. "I want someone - I want Clint - to turn me over his knee and give me a spanking."

Well, that’s clear enough. "Have you told him that?" Bruce asks.

"No!" she exclaims, apparently horrified. "Did you - he was so upset last night. So upset."

"If you ask me, Steve stopped that spanking too soon," Bruce says honestly. This opinion might not have any place in a conversation about Natasha's spanking kink, but it's the truth. "Clint was still in shock and he was scared. He hadn't accepted that no one wanted to hurt him."

"So Steve should have kept going?" Natasha asks, her cheeks coloring.

"I would have," Bruce allows, and Natasha presses her lips together like she's holding something in.

"I want Clint to spank me," she says finally. "I want him to spank me until I'm out of control and I'm sobbing and I'm sorry and I would do anything in the world for him."

"You ever think of trying it one step at a time?" Bruce asks lightly.

"I can't even say the word in front of him," Natasha confesses. "And now it's even worse because what if he's not ready? What if he's still sensitive and gets upset that I mentioned it and thinks I'm making fun of him?" She claps the paper towels to her mouth this time, breathing heavily.

"Steve needs to find Clint and make him finish the conversation," Bruce says plainly. "He walked out of that room hating everyone in it. Especially Steve."

"What did he say?" Natasha asks, almost like she's afraid to hear.

"Nothing," Bruce tells her. "He didn't make a sound and he didn't say a word."

"He wouldn't talk to me either," she says softly.

"I know it's hard, because you want to be there for him," Bruce says gently. "But you also need to think about yourself here. I'll talk to Steve about working through it with him."

"You will?" Natasha asks, turning her large, wet eyes to Bruce.

"Of course I will," he promises. "Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?"

She sniffs. "You can tell me about spankings," she says. "I really want one - I know I do - but I don't know what to expect."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there," Bruce tells her apologetically. "I'm not sure I've ever had the type of spanking you're describing."

"Neither have I," Natasha says, still looking at him, and suddenly he's sure she didn't come here to talk after all.

"I'm not sure I'm reading this right," he says deliberately. It may be hard for her to get the words out, but he’s not going to pretend he’s a mind-reader.

"You could do it," she says. "You could... give me a spanking."

"Do you want me to?" he asks evenly.

"I don't know," Natasha says, her mouth turning down and her eyes darting away nervously. "I - what if I don't like it as much as I think I'm going to?"

"I can't answer that," he tells her.

"But I want to know before I talk to Clint about it," she says.

"If you're asking me to do this, I need to know that I have your full permission," Bruce says firmly. "And you're going to tell me to stop if it gets to be more than you bargained for."

"It won't," Natasha says.

"Promise me," he insists.

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Fine. My safeword can be 'Tony,'" she says, and that makes him smile in spite of himself.

"So how are we doing this?" he asks her.

"Bent over the counter?" she suggests, and he nods. She hikes up her dress easily, revealing matching thong panties as she lies over the cool metal.

"Okay," Bruce says, and he winds up and lets it rip. His hand connects solidly with her ass on the first time, but then the second stroke glances off awkwardly, as does the third. He's holding back, he realizes. Scared of hurting her.

"You can hit me harder," Natasha tells him breathlessly, and he does. His palm lands home after that, and soon he's spanking like a natural. Or like a natural should be, if watching Steve was any indication.

"You can do it harder," Natasha gasps, and Bruce amps up the intensity. She's twisting and groaning now, her pale skin turning pink under the weight of his hands. He can even make out splayed fingertips in a few places.

"Harder," Natasha pleads, squirming against the counter, a whine in her voice, and Bruce drops his hand and steps back.

"I'm only human," he tells her. "Neither one of us would be happy if we took this much farther."

Natasha stands up slowly, her dress falling back to her knees. She smoothes her hands over the fabric and gently pats her hair back into place. Then smiles at him, walks forward, and kisses him chastely on the cheek.

"I knew you were the one to talk to," she says. "Thanks, Bruce."

With that, she's gone. Bruce rubs his hand absently against his leg, feeling the warmth.


	4. A Little More Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wants to get through to Clint.

Steve had let himself into the apartment. It's small and Spartan, the sort of apartment you could walk away from forever. He can see Clint doing that, although he doesn't know Clint as well as he would like to, as well as he knows the other members of his team. He blames himself partially for that, although Clint hasn't made it easy either.

When he hears the key in the lock, he stands and holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture. The last thing he needs is to make Clint feel more threatened.

It takes Clint no time to notice the lights are on and fix his gaze on Steve, hand moving lightning-quick to his side. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry to startle you," Steve says, lowering his own hands slowly. "We need to talk."

Clint stares at him, not giving him anything.

"We put you in an uncomfortable position last night," Steve acknowledges, still not sure what he's going to say.

"Oh, really?" Clint's voice is like ice.

"I handled things…badly," Steve says. It’s not that he thinks what he did was wrong, but the way he went about it - that could have used some fine-tuning. Now that he's calmer, his heart goes out to Clint, standing in the room with everyone else waiting to see him taken down a peg.

"Whatever, Captain. I don't even care," Clint says, folding his arms across his chest.

"You do," Steve contradicts. It's written all over Clint, in his stiffness and uncertainty and the anger rippling under his skin.

"According to who?"

"Bruce. Natasha. Me," Steve says. He's glad Bruce talked to him about it. Really. But he probably would have shown up here before too long on his own.

"Natasha talked to you?" That seems to deflate Clint, if only for a moment.

"She talked to Bruce. Bruce talked to me." Steve pauses. This is going nowhere. Clint is still standing with his back to the door, keys in hand, looking ready to bolt at any minute. He could, too. "Hey, why don't we sit down and talk about this?" He gestures to the couch behind him.

"What's there to talk about?" Clint asks.

"You're hurting pretty badly," Steve points out.

"I got my ass beat," Clint snaps, and Steve shakes his head. Stubborn kid.

"It's not about that," he clarifies.

"It seemed like it was about that to me." Clint is still glaring belligerently.

"Clint."

"What?"

"Can you drop the shields for just one minute so we can try to get through some of this?" Steve asks. It's a request, but there's a note of impatience in it, too. Clint Barton has to be one of the most deliberately obtuse and frustrating people he's ever met, and he's known two generations of Starks.

"You tried that last night," Clint points out, jutting his chin.

"So I went about it the wrong way. I'm sorry for that," Steve tells him. And he is.

"Yeah, well, me too." No doubt of that.

"Will you just come over here and talk to me? I'm trying to apologize," Steve says bluntly. He could have ordered it, he supposes, but that would be a little too much ego.

"Fine." Clint walks over to the couch, takes a seat on the far end, and folds his arms again. His eyes are boring into Steve's.

"So you thought it was all about beating your ass, huh?" Steve asks. Time to swing this around. He has an idea that Clint still hasn't accepted that he made a mistake; the smarting reprimand is taking up his attentions, not how he could change his actions.

"Oh, there was some humiliation in there, too," Clint answers tightly.

"I never meant to humiliate you, Clint," Steve says carefully, watching the disbelief etched on Clint's face. "I know I… went about it badly. That was something to discuss with you in private. We put you in a rough situation, with a lot of pressure, and didn't respect your feelings."

"That's one way of putting it," Clint agrees.

"So think about how we felt for a minute, okay?" Steve requests.

"What do you mean?" Clint is still so wrapped up in himself that he doesn't actually know.

"When we couldn't reach you and Thor. When we heard the explosions."

There's nothing but silence from the other end of the couch.

"That was a pretty rough situation for us," Steve continues, meeting Clint's eyes until the SHIELD agent looks away, flushing slightly. "We didn't know if you were dead or alive."

"You should have trusted we'd get the job done," Clint retorts. He shifts in his seat though. He knows he made a tactical error.

"You should have trusted us to have your backs and be your team," Steve tells him gently.

More silence.

"That's what this is about, isn't it? You still don't trust us to be there for you, except maybe Natasha."

"I trust you," Clint says. "You're Earth's mightiest heroes, right?"

"You trust us in costume, maybe. But maybe not outside of that," Steve realizes.

"Maybe I just don't play well with others," Clint says. He glances to the door. "It's getting late. Maybe you should go."

Clint starts to rise to his feet, but Steve raises a hand to stop him. "We're not done here, Clint," he says, and the archer sinks back down onto the couch.

"What do you want from me?" Clint asks. "Really, just tell me, because I have no idea."

"I want you to respect yourself," Steve tells him. "And I want you to respect the team."

"I do," Clint insists.

"Then I want you to tell me when we've ever given you reason not to trust us," Steve asks.

Clint doesn't have an answer. He swallows, shrugs. Looks away again, tilting his head up a little.

"You know everyone on that team cares about you," Steve says. "And I'm sorry if last night embarrassed you, if it made you feel… singled out, or like we wanted to see you punished. That wasn't my intent. Everyone who was in that room cares about you and has your best interest at heart."

He can tell that Clint's trying to process that and struggling to believe it. From what he knows of Clint's past, the guy has every reason to doubt that he's a part of the team, that they all care about him. But if they keep telling him that, keep showing it in little ways, it'll have to start sinking in sometime.

"I know you meant well," Clint says finally, like it's a major concession to get the words out.

Steve releases a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I won't embarrass you like that in front of the team again," he promises.

"Okay," Clint says, and it's the closest thing to a detente Steve has experienced since the night before, so he'll take it.

"You know, Bruce told me I didn't spank you long enough," he adds, gauging Clint's reaction.

"Bruce is an asshole," Clint replies, but he's suddenly not looking Steve in the eyes again.

"He said you needed more time to accept what was happening and get over your fear," Steve says. "He's probably right. That was only the second spanking I'd ever given."

Clint twists his face but says nothing.

"I thought I gave you a little less than what I gave Thor, and he would be able to take more, since he's not human. Guess you're just extra stubborn," Steve continues.

"Or Thor's a wuss," Clint answers sourly. "That fucking hurt."

"Are you afraid of me, Clint?" Steve asks. It's important to know.

"No," Clint answers, after thinking about it for a moment. "Like I said. I know you mean well."

"Would you trust me if I told you I thought we ought to finish the spanking?" Steve asks. He's not telling Clint, he's asking him, but there is an expectation there, so he clears his throat. "I understand if you're not ready."

Clint shakes his head. "I - sure," he says, surprising Steve. "If that means it's over. Just - don't go too hard and let's agree I'm not going to make you want to do it again."

"Did I spank you so hard last night?" Steve asks, a little surprised, and Clint rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well, Tony might have decided he had some things to say to me, too."

That shouldn't have happened, and the last thing on Steve's mind was starting some sort of spanking frenzy among his team, but he can't focus on that right now. "I'll be speaking with Tony about that later," he says plainly.

Clint raises his eyebrows but doesn't ask. "Did you want me over your lap again?" he asks.

"If that's okay with you," Steve says. There's room on the couch for Clint to lie semi-comfortably over his knees, if he scoots down a little.

"Sure." Clint rises, shucks his jeans, and positions himself just where Steve would have placed him.

"Why am I spanking you?" Steve asks, and Clint sighs unhappily before answering.

"What I did was stupid and dangerous, and it worried the team," he says, with some genuine remorse this time. "I should have run my plans by you or waited for backup. And I got Thor in trouble, too."

"Thor made his own decisions, and those have been addressed," Steve tells him. There's no need in letting Clint beat himself up over that.

"I'm still sorry for it," Clint mumbles, face buried in the couch.

"I appreciate that," Steve says, before raising his hand and bringing it down in the now-familiar motion.

The differences between this and the last time he spanked Clint are profound. The agent is much freer with his movements this time, and he even lets out a muffled gasp after the first round of spanks. He must be feeling the blows pretty sharply, Steve thinks.

After another dozen spanks or so, he can feel Clint's breathing change. Sure enough, when he helps the man up to his feet, Clint's eyes are shining and he's wiping them with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "Sorry, really sorry."

"It's okay," Steve assures him. Water under the bridge now. "It's all square in my book. With you, anyway."

"With me?" Clint asks, shaking his head as if he can rid himself of the tears that way.

"Tony and I still have some things to discuss," Steve says.

Clint coughs a little. "Right," he says. "Look, whatever Tony says - "

"We're done here," Steve agrees, smiling inwardly at the relief Clint doesn't realize he's showing.

"Tomorrow, though, it's a clean slate, and I expect you to keep it clean," he says, and Clint nods.

"Absolutely," he says. They're quiet for a moment as Clint re-buttons his jeans.

"So are you okay if I head on out?" Steve asks. "It looks like I have one more stop to make tonight."

"Sure," Clint says, and then, "Steve? Thanks."


	5. The Cat Came Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets a phone call.

Clint closes the door behind Steve, still not really sure what's happening. He'd like to believe the man. Like to trust in a team, something bigger than any one person or ego who's part of it. But in some ways, it's going to take time.

He's a little surprised when the phone rings and it's Natasha. After the way he froze her out earlier, he was expecting the silent treatment for at least a few days. He surprises himself even more when he takes the call.

"Natasha?" he asks. At least you can't tell in his voice that he's been crying.

"Clint," she answers. "Are you busy? I mean, could you come over?"

It's nearly ten o'clock on a Sunday night.

"Why?" he asks, curious.

"There's something I want to talk to you about," she says. Her voice is playful, but there's an undercurrent of urgency. "Some things I want to show you."

"Did that cat come back to the window again?" he asks quickly. Their code question when they're at home.

"What?" she responds. "No, Clint, everything is fine. I'm alone. I just want to see you."

Oh. "I'll be there," he answers, even though he's not sure how much he feels like company. If Natasha trusts him, he's not going to let her down.

...

When he knocks on Natasha's door, she answers immediately, wearing nothing but a sheer black babydoll.

"Hello there," she says, smiling seductively, and before he knows what's happening he's ushered inside.

"I thought you could spend the night," she says, locking the apartment door behind them, and he can only nod.

"Okay," he manages. What else would he possibly say?

"There is something I wanted to talk to you about, though," she continues, and he nods.

"Sure. Anything."

"Good," she smiles. "It's - spanking."

His face gets hot and he's sure she can tell he doesn't want to talk about it, but she sits down across from him and leans forward, and he swallows.

"Natasha, I don't know," he says carefully.

She shrugs, he can tell with his peripheral vision. It's impossible to tear his eyes away from her cleavage.

"It makes me hot," she says in a low voice. "Really, _really_ hot."

"I'm not sure my ass is up for that," he says doubtfully. Regretfully, because if he's going to offer it up to anyone, he'd much rather it be Natasha than Steve or Tony.

"How about your hands?" she asks, rising and crossing over to him. She puts her mouth next to his ear. "You have beautiful hands, Agent Barton."

"I don't know," Clint says, but if his heart's not in it yet, his dick is certainly getting interested.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she breathes, twining around him and cupping his hip, fingers straying meaningfully.

"I don't know," he says honestly.

"Maybe you should punish me then. For being a naughty girl," she suggests.

He shakes his head to try to clear it. "Wow, you're… really into this, aren't you?" he asks finally. He's never seen her like this before. Not that she hasn't been beguiling and seductive enough, but this is a whole new ball game.

"Yes," she says, pressing herself against him. "Yes. I need to be punished, Agent Barton. I need you to spank me like the naughty slut I am."

"Okay," he says. He can do this, he thinks. "How does a naughty slut like you deserve to be spanked, Miss Romanov?"

"Long and hard, over your knee, sir," she answers immediately. "With your hand, or maybe even a belt."

Clint nods. "I think you're exactly right, young lady," he agrees. "You're in for a long, hard spanking."

He walks over to her couch and sits down. The last two days aren't something he would ever have expected. But something about this feels better than the rest of it has, at least, as Natasha bends meekly over his lap, then wiggles wickedly.

"And naughty sluts like you get their spankings on their bare bottoms, don't they?" he asks, warming to his role as he flips up her barely-there nightgown.

"Yes, sir," she moans, squirming even more.

"Well, we'll see if we can take care of that," he promises her. He rests his hand on her rounded cheek, then begins spanking. The sound isn't so unpleasant from this end either, and he likes the feel of her skin growing warmer.

"Harder," Natasha whispers fiercely. "Harder."

He brings his hand down again and again. Yes, he has to say, he likes it better from this end.


End file.
